For My Brother

  My brother has a beautiful wife.
And, she is dying.
She has Alzheimer's, and it is slowly robbing her mind, stealing her memories, and taking her from her husband and children. That beautiful light, is slowly fading.

 My brother tells me, "This is really happening, and I don't know how to stop it.", and I understand.
It's a terrible thing to realize, you are not in control.

 We go through life, making decisions, planning our future, and bending the rules, to make it go our way. We, foolishly think we are twisting the plot, as if we're the author of our story.

 Then one day you stand, screaming in the face of the doctor, telling him to take back his words. It can't be true.

 Above my desk, I see the cross stitched words,
 "I have been driven many times upon my knees, by the overwhelming conviction that I had nowhere else to go." Abraham Lincoln
 The absolute truth is, there is no better place to be.

 My brother is a strongman. He can lift a thousand pounds, and throw it to the moon. But, he can't lift his head above his sorrow. He is bent to this burden, and fears he will break.

 I want to tell him,
be broken.
Lie, shattered, at Jesus feet.

Be Broken. That's how the Light gets in.

The Dog Days Of Summer

   This has been the hottest Summer I can remember. I suppose it could have been worse. There were days the weatherman predicted a high of 108 or 110, but my thermometer never went over 106.
   This oppressive heat has made us all act a little strange. Even my dogs, who normally follow me around the house, inside and out, have grown very attached to the couch, and air conditioning.

  The most frightening thing I have noticed this Summer, there seems to be an unusual amount of crazy talk and irrational thinking going around. For example the steady rising of Trump in the polls. I normally keep my political views to myself, but this one...I'd like to throw some cold water on Americas face and scream, "SNAP OUT OF IT!". I mean, what are you thinking?

  Maybe the heat has fried our brains. Or maybe we are all just suffering from a BlueBell ice cream deficiency. Yes, our grandchildren will likely read about this Summer in their history books. Someday, along with the Great Depression, and the Dust Bowl days, they will learn the story of the BlueBell ice cream famine of 2015. They'll ask us how we survived. I will say," I don't know, but I didn't even lose weight."

Summer Radio

 
      I was never a Chicago fan. Maybe because I was never in band. It seems like all the band kids really liked Chicago. I liked some of their songs, but I never bought an album, or tried to see them in concert, so that probably means, I was not a fan. However, I heard a Chicago song on the radio, yesterday, and it brought back some really nice memories of a Summer, long ago, and a boy, I'll never forget.

     There's something about listening to the radio, in the Summertime. We can't forget the music played at the swimming pool, the lake, or in our backyards.   It's the soundtrack of slumber parties, and the nights we crawled out bedroom windows, to meet with our summer friends.( The ones in town to visit their real dads.)
 A certain song can take me back to carnivals, and camp outs, and sun bathing. I can almost smell the baby oil and iodine.

  It's likely I fell in love a hundred times, over just a handful of Summers. What can I say? There were cute boys everywhere, and music to encourage a young girls imagination. One hot, sticky Summer night at camp, one of the counselors, a cute high school boy, played his guitar, and sang, By The Time I Get To Phoenix. That night I made the connection between boys and guitars. I was never the same.

  I'm sure anyone, around my age, can remember the Summer we heard American Pie played 100,000 times on the radio. And, I'll bet you still know every word, and sing along, to this day. It's stuck in your head, right now, isn't it?

  I think of my friend, Lisa every time I hear Bad Company, or ZZ Top. And I see us, tanned in tube tops, and bell bottoms, riding around, with the windows rolled down.
I can picture Teresa, Mary and me, in sleeping bags, in Debbie's backyard, whenever I hear Hey Jude.
Paul Simon, and Carol King always make me think of sweet Shelley.
And I miss Ivy, when I hear anything by The Guess Who.

  I know I'm sentimental, but Summer radio stirs up memories of the best friends I ever had, and the cutest boys I ever knew.
 It's 102 outside. Might as well turn on the radio, and make some memories.



  

ARE WE COMFORTABLE YET ?

  I had a few errands to run, before 8:00 this morning. So, I left the house with dirty hair, and no makeup, in hopes of seeing no one I knew. I ducked in and out of the places I needed to be, with my head down, and returned home, my pride intact.
Lucky me.
 Who cares? People don't get dressed up to go shopping anymore. Really, people don't even dress up for church, weddings or funerals like they used to.

  We've come a long way from June Cleaver's day of defrosting the fridge, vacuuming the carpets, and re-grouting the bathtub, in heels and pearls.

This is how my mother dressed me everyday

I remember my mother wearing a dress, and stockings to Six Flags. I'm seriously saying stockings, not pantyhose. I feel tired now, just thinking about it.
 My aunt said she once asked Mom to go with her to pay a bill in town, and mom said she needed to change first. When she came out she was wearing a dress, white gloves, and a hat. After all, it was Springtime in the 1950's.


Grandmother Bacon going to church

  As ridiculous as that may seem, I believe our efforts to relax have crossed a line. Most women live in yoga pants, and sports bras, like they expect to stumble upon a work out.
 Since we quit wearing pantyhose a few years ago, I'm not sure everyone gets the concept of tights or leggings. Let me put it simply. We don't want to see your butt. Your top should always be long enough to cover your rear. If you are a white girl, don't wear white, beige, or pink leggings. You look like Porky Pig, who, as you know, did not wear pants. Get it?

  A woman came to my garage sale, wearing her swimsuit, and a cute, yet see through,
cover up. I thought, "Were you planning on taking a swim?" But, she had on jewelry, and a full face of makeup. I can't imagine how I would, ever end up anywhere, in a bathing suit. If the house caught on fire while I was in the shower, and all my other clothes were burning, you might see me in a swim suit.

  Men are just as bad. My pastor can walk from the pulpit to the gym, without ever having to change his clothes. With him, I find this endearing. He is raising 4 children and needs the ability to move quickly. At least he doesn't wear a bun.
  Why does the Man Bun bother me so? It's just not right. It goes against nature. You're a Man, for Pete's sake. Grow a beard.

  I look in my closet, and I'm ashamed to say, it's full of sneakers and flip flops.( Is it possible to own just one pair of flip flops? ) The only dress hanging in there, I wore to my daughter's wedding, 6 years ago. I guess I've given up, too.

  Tell me, America, are we comfortable yet?

 



 

 

TO JEANNA, WHO KNOWS...

  Take a look at this photo.
 It may seem a little odd, but it was a G.A. (Girls Auxiliary) Coronation, in the Baptist church, where I grew up. I'm not completely sure how the young ladies, with the crowns and scepters achieved such high honors, as  I was not in G.A.'s that long. We could never keep a leader past summer camp, so...

 However, I was involved in two of these coronations, as a crown bearer. My job was to follow my Queen down the aisle, with a pillow bearing her crown.
 See all the adorable little girls, with their smooth hairstyles, and pastel dresses. But, wait! There in the middle. Who are those two puffy haired, freaks in Red? What are they doing in there with all those normal children?

 The little one is my niece, Jeanna. I am the sad girl on the right, and this was my mother's handiwork.
  I was dressed in pink, my entire life, yet Mom chose this moment, this very important, photographic moment to see how I looked in scarlet brocade.

 This is not a great photograph, but if you look closely, you may notice something in our eyes. Sadness? Fear?
We had just been through the traumatic experience of the 1960's Home Permanent.

Once in awhile, I would begin to feel pretty good about myself, only to be brought back to reality by a home perm. Mom, the kitchen beautician, would say, "it's only until the curl relaxes, then it will be so pretty." Until then, I got to enjoy the giggles, and comments from classmates about my poodle bangs. Kids can be very cruel, especially when moms give them so much to work with.

  Teachers do this, as well.
 " You did well on that test today. You won the spelling bee. Well, now it's recess, so lets go out and run"
Me: " Sure, I can run. "
Teacher: " We are going to run around the parameter of the playground, twice. I'll time you. "
 Me: " Wow, this is hard.
 Is my chest supposed to hurt like this?
 My friend left me behind! Why would she do that?
 Boy, it really is hard to run in a dress and Sunday school shoes.
 Why does our playground have swings, when we don't get to use them?
 Everyone looks like they're through running.
 Why can't I play on the swings? I just want to swing.
 Was that the bell?
 Everybody is going in! Except my teacher. She's still standing there with her stupid stopwatch. Maybe she should get an hourglass.
 I think I'll be sick, tomorrow. "

 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LAUREN

  Happy Birthday, Baby Girl!
   There are no calories in Heaven so, you and Jesus can eat all the birthday cake and ice cream you want. I'll bet the ice cream is BlueBell, because Heaven is perfect.

   I should be used to missing you by now, but I'm not. In the wee hours of this morning, I had a dream about you. I walked into the house, and there you were, at nine years old. I hugged you as hard as I could, and said, happy birthday, sweet Lauren, and I love you. You were excited about your birthday, then you just disappeared. There were a lot of people there, and I kept waiting for you to come back. I looked out the window, every few minutes, but couldn't see you. Then, it occurred to me. The windows were too dirty to see anything. I remembered the lyrics to that John Prine song.
 Broken hearts and dirty windows

 Make life difficult to see.
 That's why last night and this morning
 Always look the same to me.

 And then, I remembered.
 I remembered praying, asking God to make it not be true. To make it go away.
 I woke up, with my fist clinched, and my arms hurting.

 It was still dark, so I stayed in bed, and thought about nine year old you.
 I thought about how, you would burst into song, at the dinner table. I used to do the same thing, when I was little, and my mother would always say, "No singing at the table!" But, she never said why. So, when you sang, I just let you. And, I laughed.
 You could twirl anything. You were always picking things up in stores and twirling them. Rolls of wrapping paper, yard sticks, nothing was safe. It was fine until you learned high tosses, and three baton.
 You left a trail of glitter and sequins everywhere.
 You were the happiest person I ever knew.
 You blessed my life, and I am thankful God let me be your mom.





 

YOU CAN'T IMAGINE HOW LITTLE I CARE

  They were watching the Wendy Williams show, this morning, at the salon where I was getting a pedicure. I don't watch this show, but it seems to revolve around celebrity gossip and, Wendy's opinion of those celebrities. An audience member even asked her advice about a married friend, sleeping with her x. Wendy's advice, squeal like a pig, sing like a bird. Wendy may have gotten someone killed, today.

 As I watched, I began to wonder, why is this entertainment? Are people really that bored?

 Think about it. If you were standing in a grocery store, and a toddler started throwing a fit, you would walk away as fast as you could. But if some big star throws a fit in that same store, you'll watch it a hundred times on YouTube, and tweet it to all your friends. All we are doing, is giving that celebrity the attention, for which, like the screaming toddler, they are begging.

 Why do we care?
 If some little girl, I've never heard of, is overheard telling her friends how much she hates Americans for eating doughnuts, has it changed my life? No. I haven't had a doughnut in three years, so she can kiss my pale American.....foot.

Yes, it's sad that I can remember my last doughnut.
 I bet Kim Kardashian can remember her last doughnut. She probably took a selfie.
















 

WHAT I LEARNED ON THE WAY TO THE NURSING HOME

    Remember when you were a child, and it seemed like an eternity until your next birthday? Remember how you were so excited to be a year older? You even went so far as to state your age in fractions. You would say, I'm six and a half, or ten and three quarters. It was the only interest I ever had in learning fractions.

 Now days, those birthdays sneak up on me, and I can hardly believe another year is gone. I don't feel older. I still have the same taste in music and clothes. And, I have friends who are young enough to be my kids, so I sort of forget that I am older. Just imagine my shock, as I pass a mirror.

 I know I was quite the mess, in my youth. I smoked so much weed, and burned so many bridges, I must still smell like smoke. So, I don't miss the immature, bratty natured me. And, in later years........ well, lets just say, I don't miss the hormones, and leave it at that. The only thing I do miss is, my metabolism. Oh metabolism, what fun we had, never paying the price.

 I have learned something in my many, many years here on planet Earth. Now, pay attention, because this is important, kids.
 The only way to be truly happy, is to allow others to be happy.
 I'm not saying to be a doormat. I'm saying, if your husband wants to cook dinner, usually something your fragile metabolism can't handle, and use every pot and pan in the house, let him. Then, if he says he will clean the kitchen, let him. You can clean it up right, later on, and all will live in peace.
  Let your brother think he has won a debate. He will stop talking and you both will be happy. Chances are, unless one of you is Prime Minister of some country, your opinions don't matter, anyway.

  This is my best advice for life. Now, to quote Forest Gump, "That's all I have to say about that".


 

BEFORE KNOWING

 I read a book about grief, once. I think someone sent it to me after my mom died. In the book, they talked about anniversaries, as in birthdays, or the day the person died. It said, most often, the time leading up to the anniversary is much harder than the day, itself. I have not found this to be true. Every June 17th, I wake up at 3:45 am, the time recorded on my youngest daughters death certificate, and relive the day, in my mind.

 I remember the long drive, that night, from Plainview to Sherman. I think I fell asleep, for just a minute. I had a dream where I saw something I can only describe as the enemy, reach into Lauren's throat and pull the life from her. I woke up, and looked at my watch. It was 3:45. We got to the hospital at 4:15. I haven't worn a watch since.

 If I could just live in that time before. In those few minutes of, "Hello, how are you?" to Lauren's friends. Before meeting the doctor. Before he said those terrible words.

 It's raining this morning. The weatherman said it was flooding down in Austin. As I recall, Austin was flooding on that sad morning. So much so, we couldn't reach Eric, to tell him his baby sister was gone. Jon said it was okay to let him have a little more time, before knowing. Sarah, who had been awake all night, seemed to already know. Sisters are like that.

 We drove home, without rest, without our girl.

 A man we didn't know, who, also didn't know about Lauren, told us God had given him a vision. He saw a man praying, with tears rolling down his face. Then, he saw Jesus, holding hands, and walking with a little girl in a pink dress with a sash. I knew it was Lauren. I knew before the enemy tried to take her life, she had given it to Jesus.

 Before long, we will all be together again.

 

BRUISED EGOS AND OTHER INJURIES

  How bad would it be, if I needed to keep a chair, or stool next to my hammock, in order to safely climb out? What if I nailed something to the tree, like one of those bars old people use, to lift themselves off the toilet?

  I'm not that old, really, or disabled. But, I have never been described as coordinated. Oh, I can coordinate an outfit. But, I can't coordinate an outfit while chewing gum. Seriously, I was pushing my cart through Wal-Mart, the other day, and saw a friend.  When I opened my mouth to say hello, I swallowed my gum.

  I blame my mother. They say a baby needs to crawl, to become coordinated. And, I suspect Mom didn't think crawling was very Lady Like, and ended it quickly. After all, being her first girl after six boys, I was expected to wear pink and be a lady, at all times.

  Or, maybe it's because I never played sports. I like to blame this on the school district I grew up in, which didn't offer athletics to girls. I say, I blame the school, like it was something I wanted to do. In reality, I'm thinking, "thank God I never had to endure that particular humiliation!"

 Maybe, I just think about it too much. If someone yelled, "there's an ax murderer in your backyard!", I wouldn't have time to plan my exit strategy. I would just roll out of my hammock, and run.

  Well, it's a beautiful, late Spring day, and I can see my hammock, swaying there in the shade of two tall trees. The grass is mowed, and the birds are singing and splashing in the birdbath. The kids next door are tormenting each other in the pool. And, the bruise on my backside is nearly healed. Maybe I'll try the hammock again.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOMMA

  Happy birthday, Momma.

 If you were here today, maybe I would pick you a bouquet of flowers, from Miss Beulah's yard. You would probably put them in a Mason jar, on the TV, then look embarrassed when Miss Beulah comes over to see you.

Or maybe I would bake you a birthday cake. Chocolate, because it's my favorite. You'll have to give me the recipe, which you know from memory. You can call out the ingredients, from the living room, where you are trying to watch your "stories". Maybe this time I'll write the recipe down, before it's lost forever.

 When your soaps have ended for the day, I'll find a guitar, (there is always a guitar in our house), and persuade you to teach me another song. But, you know when my brothers come in from playing outside, it will get loud. We will laugh at the crazy song lyrics Steve makes up, until you declare the music lesson over.

 Maybe after supper, we'll get Ivy, and go to Joel's Little League game. We'll be hot and sticky, and mosquito bitten, but we'll just have the best time.......
Sounds like a pretty great birthday, doesn't it, Momma?

Still missing you
Love, Sheila
     

GROWING YOUNG

  Here, in my little town, we had our first wine festival on Saturday. There was a great turn out, and all in all, I'd say it was quite successful.
  My husband and I were sitting, listening to one of the bands, when I noticed a woman on the front row. She had to have been 75, if not older. The woman was very thin, and wore long, gray hair past her shoulders, while her tattooed, and bangled arms swayed to jazz music. She was wearing a maxi skirt, with hot pink Crocs, and a kitten t-shirt proclaiming, You Have To Have Cattitude! She was full of Cattitude, and maybe a little wine, as well.
 The longer I watched, the more I came to see myself in her. I don't believe she felt like the person we were seeing. In her mind, the old woman was a beautiful flower child, just loving life and the music it brings. And, like me, the mirror is not a reflection of her soul.

 When people use the term, Old Soul, it always sounds like a compliment. But, not really knowing what it meant, I turned to Google. Apparently, an old soul is someone who is mature, reserved, wise, and a loner. In other words, a big drag.

  I prefer to be a Young Soul. I want to listen to the music I've always loved, and wear clothes that make me happy. I care less, all the time, what other people think, and I don't mind solitude, but would rather be with a friend.
 Being mature, wise and reserved, is great for traffic court. But for now, let's dance.